


In the Silence of Our Hearts

by Eressë (eresse21)



Series: Greenleaf and Imladris [11]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 20:43:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eresse21/pseuds/Eress%C3%AB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A jest inadvertently unearths an unsuspected past and sets the stage for an unlikely future. Eleventh story in a series chronicling the millennia spanning relationship of Legolas and Elrohir from the moment they meet beneath the eaves of Greenwood the Great to the years of the War of the Ring and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offence is intended or profit made in my use of them._
> 
>  
> 
> Consider this a short break. I wanted to delve a little into Rivendell’s resident chief counsellors' relationship for a change. Erestor’s history is vague at best. There is little indication of when or where he was born or even if he was of the Noldor or Sindar. One can safely assume that he must have been intelligent and cunning for him to be one of Elrond’s most trusted advisors. As for Glorfindel, an Elf-lord of the power and status ascribed to him by Tolkien must have been a force to reckon with even in a fabled realm like Rivendell.

Chapter I  
Imladris, _coirë_ T.A. 1980  
Rivendell’s golden-haired captain slowly made his way down the main corridor of the Last Homely House to the library. He sighed a little pensively as he neared the chamber. Five years, he thought. Five years since he’d faced the Witch-king of Angmar and driven him out of the north to Mandos-knows-where. The feat had added to his legend.

That hadn’t mattered to him. Duty and honor had required the action of him, not vainglory or the need for fame. And besides, all the praise in Arda had not brought him the one thing still lacking in his life. 

In two lifetimes worth of living, he had loved only twice and neither had come to fruition. The first was doomed from the start for the lady he’d cherished had loved another. That had pained him but he’d soldiered on and served her and her chosen one as faithfully as his oaths dictated. As for the second... that had hurt even more. For he had destroyed any chances of that love blossoming with ill-considered words. Regret had come afterwards but, as was the wont of regret, it had been too late.

He sighed once more. ‘What is the good of a second life if all there is to look forward to is an eternity alone?’ he mused. He had ceased to believe that such happiness could still be his. He had long ago forced himself to be content with the affections of his friends and the respectful regard of his colleagues. After all, that is what he had in Rivendell, and in great abundance. Best not to yearn for more than what the Valar were willing to give.

He pushed open the library door. Erestor was already seated at the table by the wide mullioned windows. Spread out upon the tabletop were maps and sheaves of parchment. He heard a scuffle to one side and glanced to his left in time to see Elladan taking down a book from the long shelf that lined that side of the chamber. The older twin seemed oblivious of his arrival, busy as he was selecting more volumes.

Glorfindel turned his attention back to Erestor. One golden eyebrow rose in some amusement as he took in the steward’s raiment. For someone who held great store by the need for proper attire in public, Erestor was remarkably dressed down. But then again, the captain considered, it was hardly practical to wear one’s robes of office for a simple meeting over scout reports and the like. A simple meeting that was sure to be long and wearisome. 

Erestor looked up and said without preamble: “‘Tis about time you arrived. Mayhap you will manage to make sense of some of these reports.”

The fair Elda approached the table bemused. “Why, Erestor? What hinders you in comprehending them?”

“A general lack of order and clarity,” the counsellor dryly replied. “Really, Glorfindel, is it too much to ask more coherence from your men?”

“They are warriors, not scribes,” Glorfindel wryly said. “You cannot expect them to be as articulate as yourself or Lindir for instance.”

“Yet _you_ write with great eloquence, _Captain_ ,” Erestor countered pointedly. 

Glorfindel smiled a little at the barbed compliment. “You would actually praise me for something?” he commented bitingly. “Now, that is something that does not occur every day.”

Erestor snorted elegantly. “I always give credit where it is due, that is all,” he retorted. “Now, may we get on with this? I should like to present Elrond with something before this day is done.”

The captain shrugged and sat down opposite him. Sifting through the reports, neither noticed Elladan as he slipped out with an armful of books. 

The twin made his way to Elrond’s study. Within, Elrond sat at his desk, carefully transcribing old documents onto crisp sheets of parchment. On the couch, Celebrían sat with her feet daintily tucked under, busily embroidering a tunic for her husband. Both looked up and smiled their welcome when their older son entered.

“I hope I got all the books you requested, _Ada_ ”—Papa—he said, laying the tomes on his father’s desk.

“I believe they are all here,” Elrond said, swiftly taking stock of the different titles. “Thank you, ion nîn.”—my son.

“You’re welcome.”

Elrond glanced up when he realized Elladan had not made a move to leave. If anything, the younger Elf was looking at him curiously. 

“What is it?” he inquired, recognizing the signs of an impending interrogation on his son’s face.

Elladan grinned. “I wish to ask about Glorfindel and Erestor,” he said. 

Elrond looked at him in surprise. “What of them?”

“‘Tis their demeanor with each other. There is always a bit of reserve between them even in their friendliest encounters. ‘Tis difficult to tell if they are friends at all or just colleagues. I have never felt the same... warmth between them that I see in their relationships with others. Why is that?”

Elrond shook his head. “In truth, I do not know,” he admitted. “It puzzles me as well considering that Erestor once worshipped the ground Glorfindel stood on.”

Elladan stared at his father. “He what?” 

“Glorfindel was his teacher long ago when Erestor first came to live here.”

Elladan frowned. “I just realized something. I know next to nothing about Erestor’s early life, “ he remarked. “Just how and when did he come to Imladris?”

“Right after Eregion was overrun by Sauron’s hordes,” Elrond replied. “He was but a child and his mother soon faded afterwards leaving me as his guardian. But that’s starting in the middle of the story. Do you wish to hear the whole of it?”

“Aye, it sounds like an interesting tale.” The twin sank down into the chair opposite the desk. 

Elrond placed his elbows on the tabletop, steepling his fingers as was his wont when relating a long tale.

“Erestor’s mother was a lady in Thingol’s court in Doriath,” he said. That alone elicited a startled reaction from his son. “His father was a skilled craftsman in the service of Curufin. As you know, Thingol’s trust in the Noldor diminished after he learned of the kinslayings. When Erestor’s parents fell in love, they removed to Nargothrond rather than endure the king’s distrust of Erestor’s father. After Nargothrond fell, they were among the few who managed to escape the sack of the city. They fled to Lindon and lived there for a while. Later, after Celebrimbor founded Ost-in-Edhil in Eregion, they chose to reside there for Erestor’s sire desired to live amongst fellow artisans and ply his craft once more.”

“‘Twas in Ost-in-Edhil that Erestor was born and where he spent his earliest years. But soon after, Sauron invaded Eregion. Glorfindel and I were sent by Gil-galad to give aid but we were unsuccessful and the most we could do was help the survivors get away safely. Many chose to retreat to Lindon. But some came with me to this vale and helped me build Imladris. Erestor’s father had perished but his mother survived. She did not live long after, however, for such was her grief. She appointed me Erestor’s guardian shortly before she passed away.”

Elladan stirred. “How old was Erestor then?”

“He was little more than twenty-five-years old. A mere Elfling. I took it upon myself to raise him as his parents would have wanted. But I asked Glorfindel to be his teacher as I could not take on the task myself at the time.”

“And he worshipped Glorfindel?”

“To a fault. I know that Glorfindel tried to temper Erestor’s attachment to him but nothing came of his efforts until Erestor’s fortieth year. We sent him at that point to Lórien to further his education. He returned for his coming-of-age. By then, he’d changed. Whatever feelings he may have previously harbored for Glorfindel had obviously faded with the time and distance apart.” 

Elladan considered what his father has said. “And Erestor’s feelings were nothing more than hero-worship?” he asked. “He did not feel anything deeper – like love or lust?”

Elrond raised his eyebrows at that. “You would think of that,” he commented with some amusement. “I suspected it might be more at one point. But it became moot when he ceased to care overmuch for Glorfindel.”

“Why did you ask that, _gwaniuar_?”—older twin—Celebrían inquired, speaking for the first time. Her voice held the slightest bit of suspicion.

Elladan darted a look at her. “Why, nothing, _Nana_ ”—Mama—he said. “I was just curious.”

Celebrían looked at her husband, her blue eyes twinkling. “Which gives me all the more reason to worry,” she said. 

“Neither Elrohir nor I have played any pranks on anyone in the last five hundred years!” he protested virtuously.

“That we know about,” she rejoined mildly. 

Elrond chuckled. “You cannot blame your mother for being wary. You and your brother may have outgrown the more hair-raising activities you were once so renowned for. But you have not outgrown your predilection for jests and have only resorted to more subtle means of expressing them.” 

Elladan could not help a scapegrace grin. “Really, _Ada_ ,” he murmured. “You would think we were still Elflings.”

He rose and, with an affectionate bow to his parents, departed. Elrond and Celebrían looked at each other.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I do not know what to think,” her husband answered. “But I will not be surprised if Erestor comes to me before the week is up bearing some tale of outrage.” 

“Only Erestor?”

“Our sons have never dared cross Glorfindel overmuch in the past. I do not think they will start at this late date.”

oOoOoOo

Elladan barged into his twin’s room without preamble. He grinned at the sight that greeted him. Elrohir was sprawled on the cozy divan below the window, his long legs tangled with Legolas’s who reclined against the opposite end of the couch. Both were deep in perusal of their respective books.

It was some three hundred years since their friendship had taken the strangest of turns and they had lain as lovers. Since then, Elrohir had not turned to Legolas again for release and their close friendship had gone on as before. If anything, they seemed closer than ever despite the curious lack of any allusions to the intimate interlude they’d shared. Whether this was born of discomfort or a need to anchor their relationship once more in platonic affection, Elladan did not know. Legolas never spoke of it to him and, for once, Elrohir was not forthcoming either. If one did not know they’d once crossed the line of pure friendship, one would never guess it had happened. 

Elladan was not sanguine that that was the end of the matter; not where Elrohir was concerned. But his twin had given no indication that his feelings had progressed beyond the mad obsession he’d developed for the Mirkwood prince and Elladan knew better than to pressure him. Elrohir was not one to be hurried towards a poorly considered decision particularly if said decision was of a life-changing nature. He did suspect Elrohir’s restraint was more a reluctance to discomfit Legolas anew than a lack of interest but he had no way of confirming this unless his brother decided to confide in him the true nature of his feelings. In the last century, Elrohir had mastered the art of concealing his emotions efficiently even from his own twin. 

As for Legolas... Well, he was obviously relieved that Elrohir had not gone to him for intimacy once more. Though he had offered to assuage his friend’s need should he ever feel it again, it was not surprising that he should have mixed feelings about the incident. It wasn’t only that Mirkwood still observed a general proscription on such pairings but also that he was uncomfortable about turning his long friendship with Elrohir into something else. Legolas, as his two friends knew very well, was reluctant to engage in affairs of the heart. He’d always been wary of risking himself in something so fraught with uncertainty and potential pain. The loss of his mother and his father’s grief over it had only deepened his fears of the vicissitudes of romantic love. 

Elladan understood and tried to be supportive of both. Elbereth knows they need it, he thought. He put his speculations aside as they disentangled their legs and sat up to face him. His precipitate – and noisy – entrance boded something. Whether ill or well was beside the point.

“You look like a Dwarf who’s been given the key to Doriath’s lost treasury,” Elrohir mildly commented.

Elladan smiled. “Funny you should mention Doriath. ‘Tis part of the tale I’ve just had the good fortune to hear.”

“What tale?”

“It has to do with Glorfindel and Erestor.”

Instantly, two pairs of eyebrows rose in anticipation and two sets of grins broke out upon two comely countenances.

“Do tell,” Legolas beamed.

Elladan did. And more. When he was done, Elrohir guffawed. 

“‘Tis a splendid idea, _muindor_ , but I cannot believe that our esteemed counsellors will trust anything we give them.”

“Especially if ‘tis unlooked for,” Legolas agreed. 

“I know,” Elladan said. “I was hoping you might think of a way around that.”

Elrohir frowned thoughtfully. Then his face cleared and he beamed with ill-disguised mischief. “Arwen?”

Legolas nearly choked. “Would she cooperate with us?”

“She would,” Elrohir said confidently. “Try as she might to be as elegant and demure as mother, she still is a bit of the hoyden of yore. She will be delighted to take part in this.”

“I believe you are right,” Elladan laughed. “Come, let us talk to her before we approach Iörwen.”

oOoOoOo

Glorfindel and Erestor glanced up from their work when Arwen entered bearing a laden tray. They looked at her questioningly as she deposited it on the table. She smiled at them with sweet solicitude.

"'Tis Iörwen’s fruit nectar and honey cakes,” Arwen said. “She thought you might like some refreshments.”

Glorfindel and Erestor brightened up. They had been going over the reports for two hours now. It was tedious work at best, tiresome at worst. The tall pitcher of nectar and plate of pastries was most welcome indeed. 

“That is most considerate of Iörwen,” Erestor remarked.

Arwen smilingly filled the drinking cups with the fragrant beverage. “Why don’t you break that off for now and refresh yourselves? Surely a brief rest will not delay you overmuch.”

Glorfindel grinned warmly at the Elf-maiden. “Thank you, Arwen. This is most appreciated.”

She swallowed a treacherous giggle and dimpled at them instead. “I will leave you to it then.”

Had the two older Elves been more observant they would have wondered why she exited the library with undue haste. As it was they set to the simple repast with relief, relishing the cool nectar in particular.

A few cups each later, both felt strangely relaxed. And warm besides. Too warm. That was puzzling. This February had been unusually cold and even the Elves had felt the difference from the previous years though it did not trouble them.

Glorfindel pulled at his collar and muttered, “Am I imagining things or is it getting hot in here?”

Erestor shook his head. “Nay, I feel it, too.”

Before long, Glorfindel impatiently doffed his tunic, hoping to get some relief from the odd warmth that suffused his entire body. Erestor, less inclined to take such a cavalier approach to propriety in public, settled for loosening the high collar of his shirt. But after a few minutes, he reluctantly unlaced the shirt to expose his neck to some cooling air.

The two continued to discuss the reports and scour the maps though Erestor noted bemusedly that their conversation was becoming increasingly desultory. He glanced up at Glorfindel during a curious lull and realized the warrior was gazing at him. Nay, not at him but at his bare throat.

Erestor, in turn, found himself taking uncharacteristic interest in the muscled form of his companion, which was more than adequately revealed by his silken shirt. He blinked, startled by the direction his thoughts had taken. He chided himself and tried to focus once more on the sheaf of parchment before him. Glorfindel continued to eye him with disconcerting intensity.

“Glorfindel? Are you paying attention?” he prodded, trying to sound authoritative. But to his confusion his voice came out in a husky purr.

The Elda’s eyes moved up to his face. Now the cobalt pools centered on the counsellor’s mouth instead. 

“Beautiful,” he murmured. Erestor stared at his colleague unbelievingly. Glorfindel’s lips curled into a slow, sensual smile. “You are beautiful,” he drawled. 

The steward’s mouth dropped open in shock. He tried to speak but his dazed mind refused to supply any response. At least, not any proper response.

Seeing the usually unflappable Elf so at a loss for words, cheeks flushed and sinuous lips parted, Glorfindel felt a delicious shiver of desire course through his limbs. Silently, he rose to his feet and walked purposefully to the opposite side of the table. Vaguely alarmed, Erestor stood up as well but failed to move away; his feet felt strangely leaden.

He could only stare wide eyed as the golden warrior came to stand mere inches from him. Glorfindel raised his hand and slid it up and around Erestor’s neck to settle on the auburn-haired Elf’s nape.

“Glorfindel?” Erestor said in a quavering voice. “What – what are you doing?”

The turquoise eyes widened with predatory brilliance. A wicked grin graced the proud mouth. 

“Why, enjoying your company, _pen neth_ , what else?” he murmured huskily.

'Young one?' Erestor thought somewhat stupidly. The Elda had not called him thus since he left his tutelage. It suddenly reminded Erestor that he was indeed millennia younger than Glorfindel.

“You should not – that is, we are not—” Erestor stuttered incoherently, his polished tongue inexplicably unruly, his statesman’s poise all but unravelled by his companion’s seductive demeanor.

“You talk too much,” Glorfindel growled. With shocking deliberateness, he closed the gap between them and sealed his mouth to Erestor’s. 

Tremors of alarm raced through the counsellor. Yet he could not summon the will or desire to push the Elda away. Indeed, another kind of heat flared up within him and without thinking he curled his arms around the warrior’s muscular frame.

Instantly, he was locked in a crushing embrace, his lips forced to part and his mouth peremptorily invaded. Erestor began to shake. Memories of the distant past swirled in his passion-mired mind. He tried to collect himself, tried to gather back the tattered shreds of his dignified reserve. But the shreds eluded his floundering grasp and he found himself melting further into the warrior’s embrace. 

His lips were suddenly released but he had no time to wonder or protest for Glorfindel’s mouth traveled to his jaw and down his throat with deliberate thoroughness, kissing, sucking and nipping at the smooth pale skin.

He caught his breath as he felt himself lowered onto the table, Glorfindel insinuating himself with practiced ease between his legs.

“Glorfindel!” he gasped. “This – this is madness! We cannot—!”

The Elda silenced him anew with another assault on his already swollen lips. He felt the warrior’s hands on his tunic, swiftly unfastening the clasps, parting the garment, then making short work of the ties on his shirt to bare him to the waist. He tried to protest once more but then Glorfindel pressed hard against his groin and he was effectively hushed by the bolts of sensation produced by his own arousal.

Glorfindel broke the kiss and stared down at him. He espied the flaring lust in the cat-like eyes and smiled wickedly. “Still want me to stop, _pen neth_?” he murmured.

Erestor could only mutely shake his head. The reward for his compliance came in a series of caresses of such fervor that they left him breathless and bereft of all lucid thought. Glorfindel leaned over him, plying lips and tongue in detailed exploration of the younger counsellor’s torso. Erestor moaned and began to breath in ragged intervals.

He reached with trembling hands to touch the golden hair and run his fingers through the silken tresses. He could no longer think of anything beyond what the warrior was doing to him. His heart nearly stopped when he felt Glorfindel tug at the laces of his long breeches, his other hand moving to cup the telltale bulge on his groin.

Things may have gotten completely out of hand but for a most providential interruption. Voices in the hall outside penetrated the library doors and the two Elves’ passion-fevered senses. Both froze, their lust quelled in an instant by recognition of one of the voices. Elrond!

The Lord of Rivendell had paused outside the chamber to speak to someone. Lindir from the sound of it. Horrified, his two most trusted colleagues broke apart and hastily set about erasing the evidence of their illicit activity. Luck was with them as whatever Elrond had to discuss with the housemaster proved engrossing enough to keep him out of the library until the captain and the steward had finished their task.

When Elrond finally swept into the chamber he found the two seated at the table, apparently still studying the reports and maps laid out before them. He shook his head, amused and amazed at their diligence. They looked up as he came to the table.

“Come _mellynen_ , enough of this,” he said. “You can finish discussing these reports tomorrow.”

He fully expected them to demur. He especially expected Erestor to press on with the work at hand. But to his surprise, both Elves glanced at each other, flushed, then averted their eyes, and finally rose to their feet almost simultaneously. 

“Aye, you are right,” Glorfindel agreed. “These can wait.”

“We will see to it that ‘tis completed by tomorrow,” Erestor added.

Elrond could only stare in disbelief as his chief advisors exited the library rather hurriedly, parting ways in the corridor as soon as they could. And all the time, both avoiding looking at each other with assiduous care. Elrond wondered bewilderedly, 'Did I miss something?' 

***********************************  
Glossary:  
coirë – Quenya for early spring, roughly February to March  
Ost-in-Edhil – the chief city of Eregion, the great Elvish nation of the mid-Second Age  
muindor – brother  
mellynen – my friends

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

Glorfindel came out of his room the following morning, wincing as each step jarred his aching head. He was surprised to find Erestor awaiting him on the porch just outside his quarters. The dark-haired Elf was seated at the small table therein, a goblet in front of him. He looked none the worse for the headache he must have surely experienced the night before. 

“You look rather well,” Glorfindel commented a little resentfully. 

To his amazement, Erestor smiled brightly and said, “Lord Elrond provided me with a most efficacious remedy. Here, drink this,” he advised, indicating the goblet. “It will ease your headache quite quickly.” 

Glorfindel took a seat and reached dubiously for the goblet. Glancing sceptically at the counsellor, he raised it and downed its content swiftly. His grimace eloquently expressed his opinion of the draught. 

“Are you certain you aren’t trying to get rid of me?” he scowled. 

Erestor actually chuckled, making the golden-haired Elda stare at him. “If I wanted to get rid of you, _meldir_ , I would not resort to something as unreliable as poison,” he replied rather smugly. 

“No? Then what would you use?” 

“Any number of measures that you know well. You taught them to me after all.” 

Glorfindel smiled. The reply had been uttered with warmth and – could it be? – affection? 

“Aye, you were always a most able student. My very best, in fact.” His heart gladdened further when Erestor’s eyes gleamed with pleasure at the compliment. This was certainly a welcome development. 

He suddenly sighed with relief as his headache dissipated. “Ah, thank the Powers! I thought my head would burst.” He glanced at Erestor questioningly. “What in Arda happened yesterday? Do you know?” 

Erestor nodded. "'Twas the drink.” 

“But it was just Iörwen’s fruit nectar.” 

“So Arwen told us. But I spoke to Iörwen about this and she said the twins asked her to make up a pitcher for them.” 

Glorfindel sat back with a comprehending sigh. “Why does that not surprise me?” he remarked. “I wonder what they put in it.” 

“My thoughts exactly,” Erestor commented wryly. He continued, “They neglected to remove the pitcher from the library and I was able to examine the remaining contents.” 

“And?” 

“It had separated during the night and the nectar settled on the bottom. The liquid on top was _miruvor_.” 

“ _Miruvor_!” Glorfindel stared at the steward in disbelief. 

“In equal proportion to the nectar itself.” 

The fair-haired Elda let out his breath. “Elbereth!” he muttered. “No wonder we—” He stopped, his fair face flushing with embarrassment. 

“Aye, no wonder,” Erestor agreed with a small smile. 

Glorfindel wondered at the steward’s mellow mood. Mayhap he was still affected by the cordial? He felt his cheeks burn as he again remembered what had nearly happened the day before. 

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “Since this was obviously a jest on their part, were they...?” He trailed off, discomfited by the thought that their former charges had most likely been at the very doors of the library listening in on the results of their ingenious scheme. 

Some trace of color stained the steward's cheeks. A very becoming sight, Glorfindel absently noted. 

“I thought of that,” Erestor admitted. “‘Tis most likely they were just outside.” 

“Until Elrond approached.” 

“Aye.” 

Glorfindel shook his head. “I do not know whether to strangle them or salute them for their creativity.” He glanced his companion ruefully. “I apologize for my behavior yesterday,” he offered. “It was unseemly of me.” 

Again Erestor surprised him by beaming good-humoredly. “Do not apologize. We were not ourselves.” 

“That we were not,” Glorfindel vigorously agreed. “Not for all the _mithril_ in Arda would I have ever done that if not for that confounded concoction!” 

With his words, the good humor abruptly seeped out of Erestor’s expression. He frowned and sat back in his chair, shoulders stiffening discernibly. Glorfindel was startled by the sudden transformation. 

“Erestor, what is wrong?” 

Erestor’s mouth tightened. “It seems things have not changed after all,” he said so softly, Glorfindel had to strain to hear him. “I should have known.” 

Glorfindel stared at him perplexed. “Should have known what?” 

The slate green eyes narrowed. “I should have known better than to fool myself.” Bitterness crept into the steward’s voice. His face settled into his well-known reserved mask. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I shall speak to the young ones and ensure they never repeat this,” Erestor responded coldly. “I would not have you experience such unpleasantness again.” 

Glorfindel was aghast. With belated enlightenment, he realized what his words must have imparted to the auburn-haired Elf. But before he could speak, Erestor rose from his chair and began to walk away. Glorfindel caught him by the wrist. 

“Erestor, I did not mean it that way,” he said ruefully. 

He winced inwardly when the counsellor plucked his hand from his grip as if he had been scalded by his touch. 

“Spare me your bogus apologies,” Erestor retorted. “You always mean exactly what you say.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Glorfindel demanded indignantly. 

“ _Turn your fancy elsewhere, pen neth. You are not up to my exacting standards_ ,” Erestor hissed. “Have you forgotten your words, Glorfindel? I have not. But you need not fear another distasteful encounter for, I assure you, this will never happen again!” 

With those scathing words, he turned away and strode swiftly from the porch leaving Glorfindel impaled on the remorse-tipped spear of painful memories. The Elda did not stir from his seat, immobilized by regret and hopelessness. He did not hear the approach of others until they were practically upon him. 

“Glorfindel?” 

He glanced up to see Elrond’s children and the Mirkwood prince standing before him, faces limned with concern and distress. Suspicion coursed through his mind. 

“Are you all right?” Elladan added. 

Glorfindel scowled. “You heard?” 

The four glanced at each other guiltily. Elrohir explained: “We did not mean to. We were planning to speak to you but Erestor was already waiting for you.” 

“We did not want to interrupt your conversation,” Arwen murmured. 

“And so you eavesdropped instead,” Glorfindel said caustically. 

“We are sorry,” Elladan offered. "'Twas not our intention. 

“But we are glad we did,” Elrohir finished. 

“Glad?” Glorfindel repeated incredulously. 

“Aye. Because now we can help you.” 

“You have already helped too much!” Glorfindel bellowed. 

The quartet flinched, convinced that that roar had been heard all the way to the Golden Wood. Legolas hastily said: “We only thought to get you and Erestor to relax and become closer to each other. For too long have you two suffered in loneliness.” 

Glorfindel was taken aback. “I do not know what you are talking about, Legolas,” he replied. 

“Oh, stuff it, Glorfindel!” Ignoring the four pairs of shocked eyes that descended on her, Arwen pressed on. “We know you too well not to recognize how lonely you are though the Valar know how hard you try to hide it.” 

“Erestor is even worse,” Elladan remarked. “He pretends not to care but we know better.” 

“Please, let us help you,” Elrohir said. “If we caused you trouble with our actions then we are truly sorry. At least, allow us to make amends in whatever way we can.” 

Glorfindel sighed wearily. He knew they would not relent until he had acquiesced. “What do you want then?” 

“The truth. What drove you to say such a cruel thing to him?” 

"'Tis a long story,” Glorfindel said unhappily. 

Legolas smiled encouragingly. “We have all morning.” 

Glorfindel almost groaned as the four settled themselves around the table. They were determined to hear the tale. 

“From the jest you played on us, I assume you already know something of our past,” Glorfindel scowled. 

They had the grace to flush in chagrin. 

“We found out he was one of your students,” Elladan admitted. 

“And that he was quite attached to you,” Arwen added. 

Glorfindel stared at them then nodded. “He was not merely one of my students,” he said. “He was the best of them. My favorite because of his intelligence and wit.” 

“And beauty?” Elladan ventured. 

Glorfindel glared at him at first then exhaled in resigned exasperation. “The things you think of...” 

“Father says you tried to temper his attachment to you,” Elrohir prodded. 

The captain grimaced uncomfortably. “I was uneasy with his devotion,” he explained. “He was so vulnerable and at an age when his feelings were at their most turbulent. I did not want him to get hurt. Not after he’d lost his parents so cruelly.” 

Arwen frowned. “Would he have gotten hurt?” she softly asked. 

Her query made Glorfindel catch his breath. He paused uncertainly. “I am not certain...” he murmured. “I only did what I thought was right for him.” He looked at their attentive expressions. He finally gave in, recognizing the futility of stalling with these four.

oOoOoOo

He was in his room, abed, unwinding after a long day of training young warriors. He had not been expecting anything untoward to happen. It was then that Erestor had come to him heralded by a timid knock on his door. He swiftly rose after bidding the youth to enter.

The Elf had just returned from a short visit to Lindon where some of his distant kin resided under Círdan’s lordship. He had enjoyed his stay at the Grey Havens and the company of his father’s cousins. But even the beauty of the sea had not assuaged his yearning for Rivendell, the one place he considered his true home, and he had come back sooner than expected. 

The painfully shy adolescent had blossomed into a warm and affectionate man-child. Erestor, with his silken hair of darkest auburn, grey green cat-like eyes, proud, aquiline nose and thin yet sinuous lips, was of uncommon handsomeness. Glorfindel did not know much about his forebears but oft thought that it was a glorious fusion of Vanyarin, Noldorin and Sindarin blood that must have gone into the lad’s making. 

The young Elf was also swiftly gaining the body of an Elven warrior thanks to Glorfindel’s diligent instructions. But his main interest still lay in the scholarly pursuits rather than in warfare. That combination of sensuous features, physically trained form and serious, knowledge-hungry eyes was nothing less than breathtaking. Erestor did not seem to take notice, indeed seemed wholly immune to it, but he garnered the admiration of more and more Elf-males and maids alike as he matured. 

The youth now approached his teacher with hesitation, his cheeks coloring ever so slightly in bashfulness. The fading light of Anôr shining through the paned windows to his right brought out the lush dark red of his burnished hair. Glorfindel had to smile at the charming apparition that neared him. 

“What is it, _pen neth_?”—young one—Glorfindel asked gently. 

“I-I have something for you, _hir nîn_ ”—my lord—Erestor half stammered. 

“Something for me?” Glorfindel’s smile widened. “What is the occasion?’ 

“No occasion. ‘Tis only a token of gratitude for all the time and effort you have spent on me.” 

The youth shyly presented a small velvety bundle tied with a delicate ribbon. Glorfindel accepted it with gravity softened by the small smile on his lips. He opened the bundle slowly, giving the present due reverence. He paused in amazement when the enclosing fabric fell open. 

Against the dark cloth lay a pendant hung from a thin chain of gold. It was highly unusual and therefore quite unique. As unique as its giver, the golden-haired Elda mused. 

It was an oval stone of varied hues of green and slate grey with a few streaks of black. It reminded Glorfindel of the color of Erestor’s eyes. The young Elf had had it polished to a fine sheen and mounted within a delicate circlet of gold. 

Glorfindel gazed at it, immensely moved. He had no doubts that Erestor had patiently combed the pebbled beaches of the Gulf of Lhûn, searching for this one perfect creation of nature. It was in keeping with his scholarly tendencies that he should have perceived the intrinsic beauty of what others would have disparagingly called a mere colored stone. 

"'Tis wondrous fair, Erestor,” he murmured, a catch in his voice. “I will always treasure it.” 

The rapturous smile that answered his praise heightened the boyish beauty of the young Elf. Glorfindel had to school himself not to show too much appreciation for his student’s comeliness. 

“I am glad you like it,” Erestor whispered. “Though there is nothing that could possibly match you in – in magnificence.” 

The Noldorin Elf was taken aback. The compliment was more than heartfelt. It was adoring. Indeed, he now realized that the feline eyes were openly, innocently worshipping him. He caught his breath. This he had not expected. This he was not prepared for. 

“ _Hir nîn?_ Lord Elrond wants me to live for a while in Lórien. He says you think it will further my education. Is this true?” 

“Aye, I suggested it to him,” Glorfindel replied, relieved that the youth’s interest seemed to have shifted elsewhere. 

“But I do not wish to leave Imladris,” Erestor said earnestly. “I do not wish to leave you.” 

The warrior stiffened with alarm once more. The youth’s interest had not changed after all. “Erestor, you have learned all that I can possibly teach you,” he said. "'Tis time you came under the tutelage of others. Celeborn and Galadriel are excellent teachers.” 

“But I hardly know them,” Erestor protested. “I do not care for them the way I – I care for you,” he added in a hushed voice. 

Glorfindel swallowed hard. There. It had been said. Trying to preempt any more like declarations, he reproved the youth. “You must not say such things!” 

Instantly the cat-like eyes dimmed with hurt. It was all Glorfindel could do not to pull the lad into a comforting embrace. He bit back the apology that leaped to his lips. But Erestor’s next words shattered his resolve. 

“I did not know it was wrong to care for someone,” he whispered with heart-wrenching dejection. 

Guilt washed over Glorfindel. “‘Tis not wrong at all, _pen neth_ ,” he replied gently. 

“Then why were you angered by what I said?” the young Elf asked dolefully. 

“I was not angered,” Glorfindel assured him. “Indeed, I am touched that you should think so highly of me.” 

“I do not merely think highly of you,” Erestor objected with heart-stopping innocence. “I-I love you. I have loved you these past many years!” 

_Valar!_ Glorfindel was now thoroughly alarmed. “You are much too young to know your heart,” he said, trying to let the lad down as gently as possible. 

“But you always say that I know my heart better than most,” Erestor argued. “That I am old beyond my years.” 

The Elda silently cursed himself for having been so fulsome in his praise of the young Elf however sincere he’d been when he’d uttered it. 

“This is not right,“ he said, trying to sound firm. “I do not think this a wise course for you to follow.” 

“You disapprove?” Erestor said painfully. “Perhaps you have no liking for a half-breed Sinda with no noble blood or illustrious heritage to recommend him to a high-born Noldo like yourself. A nobody of little worth.” 

Glorfindel gasped in indignation. “You are neither a nobody nor of little worth!” he swiftly countered. “Never think yourself less than anyone else. You are most precious, Erestor. Always believe that.” 

“You think me precious?” The query was uttered with such joy and awe that it rendered the warrior speechless for several seconds. 

It took a moment before the stupefied Elven captain could recover his madly scattered wits. When he regained his tongue, he found it suddenly less articulate than usual. “Well, of course, yes—” he floundered. “That is to say—” 

Erestor neared him and took the pendant from his hand. With a smile that was fatally endearing, he raised it to hang about his teacher’s neck. He said softly, “May I?” 

Glorfindel could only nod his acquiescence, stricken silent by the tempting proximity of the youth. He had to take a deep steadying breath as Erestor slowly drew the chain down until the pendant hung against his chest. He locked gazes with the young Elf, found himself unable to tear his eyes away. 

Erestor, his hands still holding the chain, hesitated, then, with a small, shy smile, pressed his lips against his teacher’s mouth. The contact was electrifying. In that instant, desire surged through Glorfindel’s every vein. Against his volition, against every principle he had ever adhered to, he caught the young Elf to himself and returned the kiss. His mind clouded by the youth’s innocent beguilement, he could not stop himself from plundering the other’s mouth. He felt Erestor trembling in his arms, was faintly aware of his own body’s dastardly reaction. 

_How in Arda could an Elf still ten cycles of the sun short of his majority have such a devastating effect on someone as jaded as he?_

Ten cycles of the sun! The thought jolted him out of his lust-fogged state. With a tremendous effort he brought himself under control once more, dragged his lips from Erestor’s all-too-tempting mouth and released the youth from his embrace. 

Erestor was flushed and panting erratically. The slate green eyes were brilliant with newly awakened passion. Glorfindel berated himself for having been so weak as to give in to his base desires. Schooling his expression, he forced a cool, detached mask upon his countenance. The change did not go unnoticed by Erestor. The youth stared at his teacher in puzzlement. 

“That was pleasant,” Glorfindel made himself remark. “But not good enough, I fear.” 

Erestor’s eyes widened with increasing perplexity and the beginnings of hurt. “What – what do you mean?” he stammered. 

Staunchly ignoring the youth’s confused reaction, Glorfindel coolly said, “Turn your fancy elsewhere, _pen neth_. You are not to my exacting standards.” 

Erestor gasped in shock. His eyes suddenly brightened with pained tears. There was no mistaking the sense of betrayal in their depths. He stepped away, his body flinching as if Glorfindel had dealt him a physical blow. 

The warrior felt his heart clench at the misery in the youth’s eyes. Yet Erestor did him proud, refusing to give in to the agonizing need to shed tears. He would not do so in his teacher’s presence. 

Glorfindel swallowed the urge to take back his words and pull the young Elf into his arms. “Mayhap you would like your gift back?” he asked softly, not trusting his voice to remain steady. 

Erestor stared uncomprehendingly at him for a moment. Then suddenly the feline eyes glared at him in hurt fury. "'Tis a gift!” he hissed. “It would be discourteous to take it back!” 

On that angry note, he swiftly departed leaving Glorfindel numbed and shaken by the rapid change in his demeanor. 

Within the week he left for Lothlórien. He did not speak with his teacher before he departed, did not so much as glance back at Glorfindel as he rode out of the courtyard of the Last Homely House. 

He returned a decade later in time to celebrate his coming-of-age in Rivendell. He came home a virtual stranger. Gone was the sweet, smiling Elf who had shown himself capable of so much love and open affection. In his place was a cool, intelligent young adult whose smile did not always reach his eyes. Gone, too, was his warm, easy relationship with the Imladrin captain. He was cordial, willing to converse as the need arose even to the extent of bantering or jesting with him on occasion and showed nothing but utmost respect for his former tutor. But that was all. The Erestor of old had vanished. 

_To be continued…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Miruvor_ , the cordial of Rivendell, was not just an alcoholic drink. It also had the virtue of warming the body. Gandalf gave _miruvor_ to the members of the Company of the Ring during their unsuccessful attempt to use the Redhorn Pass on snowbound Caradhras.


	3. Chapter 3

Arwen gasped at the conclusion of the tale. “Glorfindel, he was trying to mend matters with you this morn!” she exclaimed.

Glorfindel sighed and nodded. “And I wrecked the opportunity with my stupidity and all too rash tongue. How I was ever adjudged intelligent enough to be your teacher is beyond my ability to fathom.”

“Nay, you were not thinking straight,” Elladan said soothingly.

“Cold comfort,” the golden captain said morosely. “If Erestor had been about to forgive me, I certainly ruined my chances of gaining it today. I now fear he never shall.”

“But I do not think that was Erestor’s intent,” Elrohir murmured. “More likely he was warm with you because he believed he’d finally won your approval.”

“My what?” Glorfindel’s face was a picture of pure confusion.

“Really, Glorfindel, you will make me doubt your intelligence as well,” Elrohir remarked. “If Erestor has been reserved with you all these centuries, ‘tis not because he felt you had wronged him but because he thought himself beneath you.”

“Elrohir is right,” Legolas agreed. “You made him think he was unworthy of your affections. ‘Not up to your exacting standards,’ as you said.”

Glorfindel sat back and groaned. “Ah, I should have cut off my tongue rather than ever uttered those accursed words!”

“But why have you never told him the truth?” Arwen inquired with a frown.

“I wanted to,” Glorfindel said. “I had planned to when he reached his majority. But he was so changed, so unwilling to speak of the incident that I finally gave up trying to broach it. I thought he had ceased to care for me in that manner. He certainly took enough lovers to persuade me that his feelings for me were long over.” He could not quite prevent the catch in his voice as he uttered these last words. “I could hardly force the subject upon him when he seemed so disinclined to even remember it.”

“But he does remember it,” Legolas commented. “And with no diminishment in his feelings about what occurred.”

“And therefore still bears the pain of it even after all these years,” Elrohir finished. 

“As you bear the pain,” Arwen softly said. “Don’t you?” At the startled reaction of the fair Elda, she hesitantly reached out her hand and ran one graceful finger along the delicate gold chain that barely peeked out from under his collar. “May I?”

At the captain’s wordless nod, she drew out the chain. At its base hung a pendant. A polished stone of green and grey mounted in a fragile ring of gold. The young Elves gazed at it in wonder. Here was the evidence of Glorfindel’s well-hidden secret. His abiding love for the Elf who had offered this simple yet priceless treasure to him.

“Tell him the truth,” Arwen urged him. 

“To what end?” he said wearily. “If he no longer cares, it will not matter if he knows the truth or not.”

“For his sake then if not your own,” Elladan counseled. “For his sense of worth. Would you have him continue believing that he was not good enough for you?”

Glorfindel caught his breath then shook his head. “You are right,” he quietly conceded. “I should have told him no matter the consequences.” He rose from his seat, prompting the others to rise as well. “I suppose ‘tis absurd to postpone this any longer.”

Elrohir placed an encouraging hand on his shoulder. “It will be all right, Glorfindel,” he softly said.

The Elda smiled wanly. “Such optimism,” he murmured, concealing the pendant once more. “I fear it will not be that simple, Elf-knight. I will go to him but I feel no confidence that the outcome will be pleasant for either of us.”

“Yet you already have the advantage of knowing he did love you and mayhap still does,” Elrohir pointed out. “Most beings must contend with the uncertainty of their loved ones’ regard or wither from unreturned passion. ‘Twould be a pity to waste this opportunity, Glorfindel. Not everyone gets a second chance, be it in life or in love.” 

Glorfindel stared at Elrohir in surprise. He could not quite put his finger on it but he had the oddest feeling the younger twin was speaking from experience. He caught the surreptitious glances Elladan and Arwen darted at their brother and knew his suspicion for truth. Only Legolas seemed oblivious of the nuances of Elrohir’s words, which was strange considering how close the two were. It seemed the Elf-knight had not confided this matter in his friend, which meant he was not yet entirely certain of his feelings at present. But who...?

He chided himself. He had no business prying into Elrohir’s affairs if the latter was inclined to keep them to himself. And he had to admit, the twin’s counsel was not only sound but also sage. With a nod to the four younger Elves, he turned and headed for the library of Rivendell. Erestor’s refuge.

oOoOoOo

As he surmised, he found Erestor in the library, already busy on the report he’d promised Elrond. The steward looked up as he entered, his countenance as cool and collected as ever.

“I trust we can finish this report?” he said evenly. “Elrond will be expecting it.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “I did not come here because of that,” he said. “I came to speak with you.”

“About what?”

“There is something I need to tell you,” Glorfindel hesitantly said. “Something I should have told you long ago.”

“Which is?” Erestor prompted.

“That I did not mean what I said when I turned you away all those years ago.”

For a moment, Erestor stared at him, surprise swiftly overtaking his earlier equanimity. And then, like a storm descending upon the valley, anger suddenly darkened his eyes.

“Do not feed me falsehoods, Glorfindel!” Erestor retorted. “I have not forgotten your scorn. You can hardly expect me to believe you.

“I know but ‘tis the truth nevertheless.”

“If ‘tis the truth then why _did_ you turn me away?”

“To discourage you from pursuing me,” the warrior explained. “You were so young and in my care. To take you to my bed would have been a serious betrayal of my charge.”

At this, Erestor forgot his usual equanimity and vented his long-suppressed frustration.

“So you destroyed my joy?” he said incredulously. “Took away my hope? Made me believe I was so beneath you as not to merit even your lust? You did that to me, you whom I trusted more than anyone else?” 

Glorfindel bore the verbal assault unprotestingly though his face paled under its fury. He waited meekly for the tirade to abate. And when it ended he kept his voice low and humble.

“I am truly sorry,” he softly offered. 

“Why are telling me this now?”

“Because you deserve to know. Because I would not have you continue believing that I...” Glorfindel paused then swallowed hard before saying, “...do not want you.”

The steward was stricken dumb for a few painful minutes. When he finally found his tongue, he could only say: “Why did you not tell me this when I returned? Why did you allow me to continue in the belief that I was so unworthy of your regard?”

“I longed to tell you. But by then you were so distant from me, I thought you no longer cared.” Glorfindel paused as the memory of heartache recalled itself to him. “And your attention had turned elsewhere,” he haltingly added.

“It was forced elsewhere!” Erestor snarled. “You virtually ordered me to stay away from you.”

“And I have suffered for that ever since.”

“Suffered? What do you know of such pain?’ 

“More than you can possibly imagine.”

“I find that difficult to believe!” Erestor hissed. “From what could you have suffered?”

“From unrelenting regret and jealousy.” Erestor was rendered wordless anew. Glorfindel did not give him time to speak but pressed on. “I was moved by what you sought to give me. You came to me untouched, unspoiled. No greater gift had I ever been offered then or since.”

“Yet you turned my gift away!”

“I did not think of the consequences of my haste. I did not realize I would have to endure watching others take what I had so rashly refused. Your innocence, your passion, your love.” When Erestor stared at him speechless with surprise, he continued. “It has been a torment pretending not to care when in truth I was wracked with envy, shaken by fury that others could have what I had practically forbidden myself.”

Still Erestor did not speak. The stormy eyes were narrowed with incredulity. The disbelief, the patent distrust broke Glorfindel’s heart. 

“Have you nothing to say?” he softly asked.

“What is there to say? You would have me believe that you suffered as much as I.” 

“Nay, I would say that I suffered even more. Your torment was not of your own making. I have no such consolation. I must live with the pain of being skewered on the lance of my own folly.”

“Indeed,” Erestor said, his voice dripping with scorn. “And what would you have me do now, Noldo?” 

He uttered the name as if it were an imprecation. Glorfindel felt his heart shatter into countless shards of pain. 

“Nothing,” he whispered, defeat in his voice. “I only wanted you to know the truth. I do not desire to continue hiding what I really feel.” 

With that he departed from the library, his golden head bowed. Erestor stared after him, breathing hard. 

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

Glorfindel left on border patrol the following morning, Elrohir and Legolas in tow. Erestor watched him depart, his feelings at war within him. Every instinct screamed at him to go to Rivendell’s captain and make peace with him. But his pride deterred him at every turn. 

He soon had reason to rue his stubbornness when the patrol returned unexpectedly three days later. He was in the library with Elladan when Legolas burst into the chamber, his face ashen with fear. 

“Erestor, come quickly!” he cried. “Glorfindel is grievously injured!”

The volume the seneschal was holding dropped to the floor with a crash. Without a word, he and Elladan followed the Mirkwood prince to the healing halls at a brisk run. They burst unceremoniously into the room wherein the golden Elf-lord lay. Three healers were bent over his body including Elrond himself. Elrohir stood at his side holding a basin of impossibly scarlet-tinted water. Erestor could not withhold a sharp intake of breath when his eyes fell upon Glorfindel.

The warrior lay on his stomach, his eyes closed, his face still and white. But his back – his back was covered with the crimson flow of his life’s blood. 

“What-what happened?” he hoarsely asked Elrond who labored steadily over the wounded warrior. 

“Three knife wounds. Very deep and wide,” Elrond replied distractedly, his healer’s hands deftly manipulating the wounded flesh to staunch the bleeding within and without. “Fortunately, they are not poisoned.” He lifted his head momentarily to glance at Erestor, wondering at his steward’s stricken face. “But he has lost much blood and is severely weakened.”

Erestor drew a shuddering breath. “Will he die?” he asked in a tight voice.

“Not if I can help it,” Elrond pronounced tersely. “Fear not, Erestor. I will not let those infernal creatures have this victory. Mandos’ Halls will not be graced by Glorfindel’s presence a second time.”

Erestor swallowed with difficulty. Looking up he saw Celebrían and Arwen at the door, staring in horror at the sight of Rivendell’s beloved captain so seriously injured. Arwen’s eyes suddenly met his and he flinched. The Elf-maid’s glare was patently accusing. He lowered his eyes. It seemed Arwen knew about their last encounter if not its content. And it was obvious that she regarded it as the direct cause of Glorfindel’s present state. 

The captain had been distracted the morning he led the patrol out of the valley. That would account for his failure to evade his enemy’s strokes. The Elf was too seasoned a warrior and too agile an opponent to have been so careless as to open himself to such an assault.

I am to blame, Erestor castigated himself. He would not have been in such a state had I not been so cruel and unforgiving.

He kept watch over the warrior for the next several days, leaving his side only when necessary, puzzling Elrond and Celebrían when he stubbornly insisted on virtually tending to all the injured Elda’s needs. He took over ministering to the wounds and changing the bandages as soon as Elrond declared Glorfindel out of immediate danger. He coaxed spoonfuls of broth past the pliant lips when the golden-haired Elf was conscious enough to swallow nourishment though not aware of who cared for him. And he bathed him as tenderly and carefully as he might a newborn infant. Only it wasn’t quite the same as bathing a babe, Erestor realized with shock and wonder the first time he undressed his former mentor.

He had never seen Glorfindel completely naked before. His bared torso, yes, when he trained Rivendell’s warriors, oft clad in naught but breeches and boots. He had never admitted to himself just how much he was affected by the picture of what he’d once sought to know more intimately. The hurt and humiliation he’d experienced in his youth had always barred the way.

But now, he was faced with the full splendor of the Elf-warrior. Even while lying on a sickbed barely pulled back from the brink of death, he was the image of all that was beautiful and noble and desirable. His hands trembled as he deftly washed Glorfindel’s form, hesitating when he came to the Elda’s groin. 

‘Dare I?’ he thought. Steeling himself, he attempted to finish his chore soonest. But his hand shook almost violently when it brushed against Glorfindel’s shaft. He stopped his movements and cursed his lack of control. Then, unable to hold back, he hesitantly drew his fingers once through the golden curls upon the Elda’s groin and along the length of his shaft. Dear Elbereth, it was a formidable spear even when quiescent. What more when Glorfindel was aroused? 

Erestor heaved a pensive sigh. Not that he would ever know. After everything that had happened, it was unlikely Glorfindel would approach him again. He had severed the last connection that might still have bridged the gap between them with his prideful words. The thought saddened him immeasurably and dampened the incipient lust that had stirred within him. He completed his task with little more difficulty.

oOoOoOo

He was tucking the covers securely around the warrior when he became aware of the latter’s groggy scrutiny. It was now more than a week since the incident and Glorfindel had been drifting in and out of consciousness the past few days. Erestor could not be sure if the captain had been aware of his steady presence. Until now.

A pair of aquamarine eyes regarded him with full lucidity.

“You did not have to take care of me,” Glorfindel quietly said, his voice somewhat thready. “But thank you anyway.”

Erestor was at a loss for words. This was so sudden. He was completely unprepared.

“How do you feel?” he finally asked, then cursed himself silently for such an inane opening.

Glorfindel grimaced. “Like death warmed over,” he muttered. He tried to rise only to feel the room spin around him.

Erestor quickly caught him as he fell back dizzily.

“Do not move!” he softly exclaimed. “You are still weak, my friend.”

Glorfindel lay still awhile, waiting for his head to stop whirling. 

“Am I?” he asked at length.

“Are you what?” Erestor stared at him confusedly.

“Your friend.”

The steward was shocked. “Of course you are!” 

Glorfindel simply looked at him. Erestor shivered inwardly at the lack of emotion in the usually expressive cobalt pools.

“I had better get Elrond,” he said.

The captain merely nodded. Erestor departed, his heart weighted with apprehension. 

Glorfindel’s recovery was swift from that point onwards. Ever the warrior he rose from his sickbed sooner than might have been expected and returned to his duties as soon as he was deemed fit enough to do so. Not even Elrond could persuade him to take his time before resuming his responsibilities. He had wasted enough time lying abed.

Erestor watched him go about his way with a heavy heart. Not once did the Elda speak to him of their quarrel. Indeed, he did not speak to him at all if he could help it. But it was not anger that made him keep his distance. 

_'Twas my own words to him the last time we talked that keeps him away_ , Erestor despondently admitted to himself. 

The steward was aware an apology to the captain was warranted. He’d had the right to be angry with Glorfindel but there had been no need to be vicious about it. Unfortunately, Erestor was also as proud as they came. He’d seldom apologized to anyone in his life; he’d avoided situations that would require him to humble himself thusly. The encounter with Glorfindel in his youth had traumatized him so deeply he’d never put himself in a position of such vulnerability again.

So, the words were not said. And the silence between them continued. Elbereth only knew how long this deplorable state of affairs would have gone on if not for an unexpected encounter in one of the corridors of the Last Homely House one afternoon.

He was rounding a corner when he heard voices speaking in the hallway beyond. Glorfindel and Arwen’s voices. He cautiously took a peek at them. They were discussing something of import judging from their serious expressions. Erestor wondered what.

“But Glorfindel—!” Arwen finally exclaimed in frustration.

“Leave it be,” the captain said. “‘Tis over between us.”

“You do not believe that.”

“It matters not what I believe. Erestor made it quite clear that whatever feelings he once held for me are no longer there.”

Erestor nearly gasped when he heard his name.

“He only spoke in anger. That he approached you that morn is evidence that his regard is still present.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “‘Twas not love that drove him.”

“If not love, then what?” Arwen demanded stubbornly.

Glorfindel sighed. “As you so sagely put it he was simply trying to mend matters between us, nothing more. I must go.”

He hastened past the Elf-maiden before she could further press him. Arwen stared after him with an unlady-like scowl.

“Eavesdropping? It does not become you, Erestor.”

The steward whirled around to stare into Elrohir’s argent eyes. Elladan and Legolas stood behind him. 

“I was not eavesdropping.” he protested indignantly. “I just did not want to intrude on them so suddenly.”

“And the fact that they were talking about you had nothing to do with it,” Elladan commented.

Erestor glowered at the Elf-lords. “I have nothing to say to you,” he growled with uncharacteristic gracelessness.

“But _I_ have something to say to you.”

He groaned inwardly. Turning, he faced a rather irate Arwen. She wasted no time at all.

“We do not have to know what you said to him,” she said caustically. “All we need know is that it left him so distraught, he could not evade a witless orc’s charge!”

“Arwen—”

“He went to you to apologize for the past. How many would have lowered themselves to do that? Certainly none as valiant and proud as one who slew a Balrog and passed through Mandos’ Halls because of it!”

Elrohir placed a calming hand on his sister’s shoulder.

“Peace, _muinthel_ ”—sister—he murmured. He glanced at a white-faced Erestor. “That Glorfindel wronged you then is undeniable,” he said. “But he did try to make amends for it even if belated. We believed you would accept his effort. He did not. He obviously knew you all too well.”

“He told you about us?” Erestor asked with some consternation.

“Glorfindel told us about his error in handling your youthful attachment to him,” Legolas supplied. “He was truly remorseful about it, Erestor.”

Color stained the counsellor’s cheeks that the others should know of his past infatuation.

“I wish he had not done that,” he said uncomfortably. 

“We pressed him,” Elladan stated. “And we could tell that he needed to talk about it. He probably needed to talk about it all these years.” He regarded the flustered counsellor with sympathy. “He loved you then, do you know that? He still does.”

Erestor flushed further. “So he told me,” he conceded.

“But you did not believe him.”

The advisor let out an irritated sigh. “As if ‘tis easy to believe after all these centuries,” he snorted. “He never came to me, never indicated that he felt otherwise.

“He is as proud as you are, chief steward,” Elrohir said. “It was no easy thing for him to own himself wrong and admit it to you as well.”

“Mayhap. But you can hardly blame me for being skeptical.” 

“Be that as it may, what will you now do to make amends?” Arwen asked pointedly.

“What will _I_ do—?” 

“To set things right between the two of you,” she said. “Glorfindel took the first step and a very big one I must say. When will you do your part?”

Erestor shrank from the idea. “This is ridiculous,” he objected. “‘Tis not as if I started this.”

Arwen exploded. “You have both suffered for nigh on two millennia because of his ill-spoken words!” she cried vexedly. “Will you both now suffer another two thousand years because of your benighted pride?”

Erestor stared at her in shock. Never had the Elf-maid behaved so indecorously around him. A hand on his arm drew his attention once more to Elrohir.

“Is it indeed over between you?” the Elf-knight asked ever so gently.

_To be continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

Glorfindel undid his tunic a little wearily. He was not tired in body so much as he was drained in spirit. Nothing seemed to lift them nowadays. Nothing since... He mentally shook his head. Useless to dwell on that. He shrugged off the tunic.

He started and inadvertently dropped it to the floor when Erestor entered his room without bothering to knock. For a moment, he stared at the steward, amazed at the other’s lack of propriety. Erestor never behaved with anything less than utmost decorum.

“You seem to have mislaid your manners,” he commented.

To his bemusement, the counsellor blushed. He’d half expected Erestor to come back with some acerbic reply.

“If I did not knock ‘tis because I was uncertain that you would let me in,” the steward admitted.

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows in surprise. “And what, pray tell, was your purpose in coming here?” he inquired evenly.

Disconcerted by the captain’s demeanor, Erestor nearly bolted. But he forced himself to go on. It was either that or face the four young Elves again. He could not decide which was more daunting. 

“I wanted to talk to you,” he finally said.

“What could you possibly want to say that you did not already tell me?” Glorfindel said. The barest hint of hurt tinged his words. A flicker of pain showed in his eyes. 

For the first time Erestor realized just how much Glorfindel had humbled himself in going to him that day. _He lowered himself before me, sought my forgiveness, cast aside his pride to make amends and instead of trying to understand, I hurled back his apology in his teeth._ Erestor shuddered inwardly. 

“Erestor?” Glorfindel said quietly. “What is it you wish to talk about?” 

The steward drew a calming breath. “I wanted to say I am sorry for the way I behaved toward you,” he explained haltingly. “Before you left on patrol.” 

Glorfindel sighed. “You had every right to act as you did,” he said. “There was just cause.” 

He bent down to pick up his tunic. As he did so, the stone pendant slipped out from under his shirt and hung in plain sight of the steward. Erestor’s eyes homed in on it. He caught his breath. His former teacher still had it after all these millennia. 

It could only mean one thing. Glorfindel had cared for him and still did. Erestor was thoroughly shaken. _He told me the truth._

He hesitated then said: “Glorfindel, I am no longer untouched as you put it. Yet in one matter I am still as innocent as I was the day I approached you.”

“What matter is this?” The Elda looked up with dulled eyes. The sight made Erestor’s heart ache with regret and self-reproach. 

“I have never lain with an _ellon_ ”—male Elf—he said, reddening slightly at making so personal an admission. 

Glorfindel shook his head. “Please, Erestor, I am not blind. I have seen the company you have kept in all these many years.”

Erestor swallowed hard at the pain in the other’s voice. “True, but ‘tis only _ellith_ I bedded,” he tightly clarified. “I could be intimate with them for there was no comparing any woman with you.” Glorfindel stared at him. The tiniest spark of a response showed in his eyes. Encouraged by that reaction, Erestor plunged on. “But I could not take any Elf-male to my bed. It did not feel right.” He had to pause for another deep breath. “They were not you.” 

Glorfindel’s stare if anything grew even more intense. Erestor suddenly found it hard to breathe evenly. He shakily said: “I... I suppose I was... saving that part of myself... for you. Should... should you ever want it.” He added almost inaudibly: “I love you, my lord.”

For the length of a heartbeat they gazed at each other. Then, of a sudden, Glorfindel surged forward, eyes flashing with unholy brilliance. Startled, Erestor took a step backward. But before he could move any further, the Noldo had reached him, pulling him into an embrace that brooked no resistance. 

Lips crashed against his possessively, ravenously. In that instant, Erestor felt as if he’d been swept back in time to when he’d been but a lovesick young Elf offering his heart to his beloved tutor. But this was nothing like that past. In this present, Glorfindel did not push him away, did not tell him to turn his fancy elsewhere. In this present, his former teacher accepted, nay, claimed his gift with breathtaking urgency. And he was claiming it in a manner that made it patently clear that there would be no turning back. 

Erestor gasped as his mouth was invaded, as it had never been before. He did not resist. What he had denied every other lover he now yielded. It was simply right. 

They never made it to the bed. Erestor’s soon discarded robe provided all the bedding they needed on the floor upon which Glorfindel lowered him with understandable haste. He followed the steward down closely to mold their bodies together as intimately as possible. 

Casting aside all the grief and regrets of two millennia past, the Elvenlord had to summon all his self-control not to give in to the irresistible urge to ravish the dark-haired counsellor and take once and for all what he had denied himself for far too long. Only the knowledge that Erestor had never lain with another male Elf kept him from taking so peremptorily that which he craved. He had caused enough hurt to the steward; he would not do so now and mar this joyous reconciliation. Glorfindel forced himself to slow down, to pleasure the other first until he was certain Erestor was ready to yield. 

Erestor felt sentience desert him in the face of Glorfindel’s tender onslaught. Haughtiness had no place here or reserve or self-control. He found himself writhing wantonly under the touch of possessive hands, bucking helplessly into the heat of a demanding mouth, clutching at the robe beneath him as he was delved by a questing tongue. All thoughts of decorum vanished as he gave himself up to the only Elf who had ever held his heart. 

Sheer ecstasy at the moment of their joining was sweet reward for Glorfindel’s efforts. Incomparable rapture coursed through his body as he buried himself deep in Erestor’s flesh. Together they moved as one, enjoying each other’s pleasure, savoring the inimitable bliss of union. When Erestor hoarsely cried out his name in delight at the height of their coupling, Glorfindel knew boundless joy. And when his own release followed but a moment later, he found it the purest, most intense sensation he had ever experienced in his immortal life.

oOoOoOo

Erestor awoke in a bed not his own. Alarm might have taken him then but for the scent on the sheet that covered him. Glorfindel. He remembered what had passed the night before. They’d moved to the bed after that first joyous coupling and engaged in more loving. After centuries of denial and heartache they could not get enough of each other. It was near dawn when they finally surrendered to the pull of slumber.

He turned his head and saw the captain reclining on the lounging chair in the small enclosed terrace outside his chamber. Almost at the same time, Glorfindel happened to look at him. He smiled invitingly. 

Blushing slightly, Erestor rose and pulled on the bed-robe Glorfindel had laid on the covers for him. He joined the other Elf and was at once drawn down into an intimate embrace. Tucking his head into the crook of Glorfindel’s neck, he waited quietly, reluctant to break the tranquil silence of the morning.

At length, Glorfindel stirred and bent his head to take a draught of his lips. The next several minutes were spent in a spate of sweet, languorous kisses. When Glorfindel finally released his lips, Erestor sighed in contentment and gazed at him with devotion-flecked eyes. Glorfindel felt his heart swell at this evidence of the other’s deep-seated affection. 

The golden Elda said, “When Manwë sent me back to these shores, I wondered why he required me to serve Elrond. It seemed strange that he desired me to do this for the son of him for whom I had already given my life to save. Not that I begrudged my service here,” Glorfindel smiled. “I found all that I had lost in Gondolin – friends, family, a sense of purpose. But now I realize Manwë meant for me to find my greatest reward in Elrond’s home. You.”

Erestor felt his throat tighten, moved by the warrior’s declaration. It brought home to him just how providential fate could be given the right circumstances. Not to mention a helpful push by the Powers that be.

“You have never talked to anyone about that time in your life,” he murmured. “Your passing, the Halls of Awaiting or even your return to Middle-earth. Will you not tell me at least? I would be of comfort to you, knowing what you must have suffered. Will you trust me?”

Glorfindel gazed into the feline eyes; their depths were limpid with steadfast love and utter devotion. He had never cared to be so open with anyone about that period in his life – the horror, the trauma and the loneliness. But in Erestor he had found his haven from all the hurts of his long and eventful life. He knew then that it was time to unburden himself of the secrets of two ages and uncounted centuries. 

And so he told him everything. Spoke of the searing agony of the Balrog’s flames and the horrendous fall from Cirith Thoronath to both their ruins. Held in Erestor’s comforting arms, he recounted the centuries long stay in Námo’s timeless halls, thinking, reflecting, always waiting, and then his release and the terms that had secured it. An oath of service to the son of Eärendil, rebirth and the swift growth to his second majority, the return of memories and the upholding of his oath and, finally, the journey back to a vastly changed Middle-earth and his long service to Elrond from the realm of Gil-galad in Lindon to the wars in Eregion to the founding of Rivendell.

“Even then I was alone and lonely,” Glorfindel quietly admitted. “Though I took many to my bed, warriors and maids alike, I never did so in love. Only once before did I give my heart but she was meant for another.”

Erestor felt a pang of jealousy, which dissipated as soon as he saw the sorrow in his lover’s eyes. “Who was she?” he softly asked.

“Turgon’s daughter.”

“Idril Celebrindal?” Erestor gaped. “Elrond’s grandmother? Then your defense of her family against the Balrog was—” He stopped, astounded by the implications.

“For love of her, aye,” Glorfindel said. “I could not let harm come to her or he whom she loved and still less to her only child. I counted the forfeit of my life well worth it if it thereby saved her and hers.” He stroked Erestor’s jaw with a slender finger. “When I returned to this life, I hoped I would know love once more. But the years passed without even a glimmer of hope and I began to believe that ‘twas not my fate. Until you came along.”

“I did not fully understand why I was so drawn to you. I thought ‘twas but the fondness of a teacher for a most able student. But when you came to me that day and offered yourself, I knew then I had found what I had been seeking all these long years.” 

Erestor gazed at him with pained eyes. “If I had not been so distant when I returned from Lórien, what would you have done?” he asked in a hushed voice.

The warrior bit his lip. “I would have gone down on my knees and apologized for the hurt I caused you,” he honestly replied. “And, if you had accepted it, I would have told you that my heart was yours and asked if you would still have me.”

Erestor looked at him, stricken. He gave a low moan and pressed his face into the captain’s neck, his body trembling.

“Erestor! What is it?” Glorfindel asked in alarm.

The steward drew away, his eyes glittering with anguish. “If I had given you that chance,” he said sorrowfully. “If I had not pretended indifference, you would have been mine and I, yours long ago.” He closed his eyes tightly as if to shut out all the hurt and frustration of the past.

Pain briefly limned Glorfindel’s features. “Do not blame yourself. If _I_ had paused to consider the consequences of my words...” he said under his breath. “It broke my heart to break yours. But your declaration of love was my undoing. I knew that if I gave you any hope at all, you would not desist and I would then have taken your innocence. I could not do that to you, Erestor, not then. But I could have chosen a less offensive way to turn you down instead of hurting you so deeply. Forgive me, beloved.”

Erestor felt his heart swell at the intimate endearment. “Nay, you were only trying to protect me in my impetuous youth,” he murmured. “Had I used my wits I would have discerned your motive and not held your words against you all these centuries.”

“You were young and innocent,” Glorfindel protested.

“And old beyond my years as you used to tell me,” Erestor reminded him. “I should never have let my anger rule me. And I rue even more my confounded pride knowing now how much you treasured the innocence I would have given you. But instead of biding my time, I spent myself in the arms of others.”

Glorfindel stared at him in surprise. “What do you—?”

The steward cut him off. “‘Twas my gift to you though you could not accept it at the time,” he choked. “I should have kept it whole and unspoiled for you. But in my anger, I tarnished it irrevocably and now ‘tis nothing more than a tawdry trinket that I have given you.”

“How can you believe that?” Glorfindel exclaimed softly. “Think you that I deem your love so low? There is nothing tawdry about yourself, not your body or spirit or heart.” 

“But you admitted jealousy of the lovers I kept company with,” Erestor said.

Glorfindel nodded. “Aye, I was jealous. How could I not be? But I never thought you anything less than precious and dearer to me than all the treasures of Middle-earth. That you took no _ellon_ to your bed because of me is a wondrous surprise, but the gift I desired most was your love and that you have given me, untouched, unspoiled by any other. What greater innocence can there be than that?”

Erestor gazed at him with ever deepening emotion. “If I had only known that,” he whispered. “Happiness would have been ours even before this age.” 

Glorfindel sighed and pressed a kiss to Erestor’s temple. “Ai, ‘tis fruitless to dwell on the past. I would rather ponder the future. And it looks very bright now that you are mine.”

Erestor’s cat-like eyes glimmered with pleasure. The very glow in them spurred Glorfindel to take the next step. “ _Melethron_ ,” he said in a hushed voice, “I would bind myself to you if you would have me.”

“If I would have you?” Erestor gasped in surprised delight. “I would do it tomorrow if you wished it.”

Glorfindel’s smile lit up his passing fair countenance. “Nay, let us wait the requisite year,” he said. “I would still provide a good example for our _pin nith_.”—young ones.

Erestor snorted good-humoredly. “Since when have they ever followed anyone’s example, good or bad? They will do as they wish and oft be the first to do it at that.”

“They are highly original,” the warrior agreed with a grin. “Yet I have them to thank for this moment. Without their intervention I should never have gained you at last. They gave me a fearsome scolding after you left me that morning.”

“ _They scolded you?_ ” Erestor was astonished. He had never thought the young Elves would ever have the temerity to challenge the redoubtable Elda in any way.

“Be warned. Arwen’s tongue can be sharper than my best sword.”

The steward chuckled. “I confess they did the same thing to me before I came to you.”

Glorfindel stared at him. “Let me guess. Arwen gave you a tongue-lashing as well.”

“Aye. She seems to have inherited Elrond’s temper rather than Celebrían’s.”

“We’d best keep that in mind. And the others?” 

“More persuasive than a Bree innkeeper trying to sell sour ale.”

The golden-haired warrior laughed out loud at the steward’s succinct portrayal of the younger Elves. “They grow ever more formidable as their years lengthen,” he smiled. “May their tribe increase!”

*****************************************  
Glossary;  
ellith – Elf-maids  
melethron – male lover

_End of Part XI._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Part XII: Prelude to Grief - The twins face heart-rending changes in the wake of a horrific transgression that takes place in the depths of the Misty Mountains._


End file.
